


The Stories Children Tell

by SoleminiSanction



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Community: dckinkmeme, Folk Religions, Gen, Hero Worship, Jason Todd is Robin, Reverse Robins, Tim Drake is Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleminiSanction/pseuds/SoleminiSanction
Summary: The first Robin was a demon, or so it was said on the streets.The second was an angel, torn apart by hell.The third is just a boy. He's doing his best.--Fill for the DC Kink Meme, for the prompt of: "Reverse Robins!Robin!Tim showing whyhe’s Jason’s Robin, despite Jason not being a stalker, by being nice and gentle to Jason and the other Crime Alley kids in a way Damian wasn’t, causing Jason to idolize Tim."
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 16
Kudos: 310





	The Stories Children Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt:  
> "I would like to see Reverse Robins!Robin!Tim showing why he’s Jason’s Robin, despite Jason not being a stalker, by being nice and gentle to Jason and the other Crime Alley kids in a way Damian wasn’t, causing Jason to idolize Tim.
> 
> (And maybe an epilogue of sorts where Tim and Jason are fighting, and Jason is insisting that Tim isn’t like this, while Tim insists otherwise, perhaps even that he was always like this? Or perhaps it could serve as a framing device?)"
> 
> \----
> 
> The storytelling motif throughout this piece was inspired by the classic article _Myths Over Miami_ , about the kind of darkly beautiful folk religions that come from populations of marginalized children.

The first Robin was a demon.

So it was said on the streets. In the back-alleys and homeless shelters and the hidden shadows of schoolyards, the children of the poor, the homeless and the desperate of Gotham whispered their sacred truths: that monsters lurked on the docks and in the bay, that the Court of Owls was always watching, that Amusement Mile lay atop a portal to the deepest pits of hell, and that Batman, Gotham’s own avenging angel, had captured and bound the spawn of a demon to walk eternal at his side. That was Robin, named for the bird he resembled when the blood of the wicked painted his breast.

Jason had never been one to truly believe in such tales, despite the best efforts of the Sisters of Saint Jeanne de Chantal. There were more than enough monsters in Gotham without bringing in literal demons. But he, like everyone who survived, knew to listen for the truth in the stories. Robin was dangerous. Only Batman’s short leash kept him in check. Better to avoid the bird at all costs, and pray those sickly green eyes never fell upon the urchins who whispered his legend.

Which is why it startled everyone — “everyone” here meaning, the gaggle of homeless or bad-household kids who clustered in the Beltway greenspace at night for the safety of numbers — when, after a months-long absence, the red-breasted Boy Wonder came walking up the path like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The look-outs spotted him first and sounded the alarm, sending kids scurrying into the hidey-holes of bushes and park equipment. Jason snagged a good space up the sturdiest tree on the block. There, he got a bird’s eye view of the intruder’s approach. Nobody had ever seen Robin up close, but he looked different from how he’d appeared in the rare news appearance or blurry security footage that found its way online. He was shorter, for one. Slighter and paler, and he didn’t strut or stomp or lurk. He only strode with purpose to the little nook at the end of the street where the greenspace had been tucked away.

He paused at the entrance, looking at a tiny park that, by all accounts, stood empty.

“I know you’re all here,” he said, projecting his voice without yelling. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

To prove it, he held up his empty hands, turned them so everyone could see both sides, and reached for his waist. Slowly, so they could see every motion, he unbuckled his utility belt and placed it atop a nearby litter bin. Then he removed the sharp-edged R from his breast and showed them how the stick he carried could telescope into a weapon. He set both next to his belt and added the heavy, armored cape, leaving no other place to hide weapons that anyone could see.

Then, with his hands lifted to show safety, he stepped further into the greenspace, leaving all of his weapons and defenses behind.

“I’m looking for a guy who’s been recruiting kids off the streets. You’ve probably seen him around: he’s about my age but dresses like a soldier, complete with the shaved head. Camps his pitch in fancy words about the military and three square meals a day.”

He curled and uncurled his fists, but did not lower them. He stepped into the beam of the street lamp, putting himself at a disadvantage — the street kids could see him, but with the glare and the shadows, he wouldn’t be able to see them.

“I promise you: if he’s taken any of your friends, I will get them back, and they won’t be charged for anything he forced them to do. All I need to know is where I can find him.”

His gaze fell on Jason’s tree. While it was hard to tell at a distance, Jay was sure that the eyes behind the mask were blue, not green.

That, perhaps, was what made him poke his head out from the branches and call back, “He’s running out of a warehouse on the Finger.”

A collective soft gasp rolled through the greenspace kids. Robin’s arms lowered, but only so he could tap the information onto a keyboard apparently hidden within his gauntlet. “Which one? Do you have an address?”

“Nah. But it’s somewhere in the sixty-second street block. That’s where I heard ‘em telling the kids to go, and it’s where Jamie Crest was headin’ before he went missing.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully. He squinted at Jason, shaded his eyes, then brought the pointer and middle finger of one hand to his brow, rubbing the space above his right eye. “That cut looks pretty deep. You okay?”

Unconsciously, Jason touched the wound he had in the exact same spot. Though it had been three days since his dad gave it to him, his fingers came away tacky.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Robin hummed. He reached into one of his gloves and took out a scrap of paper stock - a business card — which he showed them before crouching to set it on the sidewalk. “If you decide it’s not fine, go here. It’s a clinic. They’ll patch you up for free. Might ask some questions about your folks, but that’s better than losing your eye.”

He straightened, looking away from Jason and out at the quiet park, where about a dozen children were still hiding. Jason couldn’t see them either, but he knew that every eye in the place was locked on that red vest.

“That goes for all of you. If you need help — reach out. There are still good people, even in Gotham. And I, for one, include all of you in that count. Thank you.”

He bowed to them — actually fucking _bowed_ , right out of an Austen book! — collected his things, and vanished into the night. The second he was gone for good, Jason scrambled out of his tree and snatched the card off the sidewalk. It was exactly as Robin said, the name and address of a clinic in Crime Alley, one that didn’t have a sign in a half-baked attempt to ward off robberies.

Two nights later, the news reported that an upstart villain byname of The General had been arrested. A bunch of Jay’s friends got their big brothers and sisters back, a bit bruised up but all in one piece. And that’s when Jason Todd knew for sure that Gotham had a new Robin.

* * *

By the end of the month, the streets had a new story: the first Robin had been sent away, and now stalked the streets of New York as Nightwing. The second Robin was an angel, or perhaps a kindly sprite, sent from shining Metropolis to bring hope to the Bat and color to Gotham. He preceded Batman rather than skulking behind, proudly displaying the golden lining of his cape and the new green tint of his armor and gloves. He laughed sometimes, smiled a lot, and sometimes hung out on rooftops, eating snacks and keeping watching over the city.

Jason never saw him directly again, but he learned the legends well. They said you could tell who the good cops were by finding the ones who returned Robin’s smile. When Batgirl appeared, silent and dark, they called her a shadow given life to be Robin’s friend, and to watch over girls in the places where boys weren’t allowed to go. And when heroes from the Outside began to visit, spotted as streaks of color against the gray clouds, everyone knew they’d come to see Robin, bearing gifts of color and light that he presented to Gotham in turn.

A new light had come to Gotham. It was barely a candle-flame against the gray and black, but for those who knew to look for it, it shown like a beacon. A tiny spark of hope in the endless night.

And then, swift as it came, it was gone.

Robin vanished. He’d been too young to move out, the way Nightwing did. No one could even guess what had happened until the stories started to come of brutal Bat-beatings unlike anything the city had ever seen.

Gotham’s protector grieved. He grieved in violence and fury that left no question, in the children’s minds, as to its cause: his Robin was dead. Torn to pieces and swallowed up by the darkness of this earthly hell. With him went the hope of the Bat, the kindness that had been coaxed from him, and the color from the eyes of Jason’s fellow survivors.

Which is why Jason risked pick-pocketing for a week until he’d pooled enough to buy a bus ticket to New York. Why he gathered every scrap of evidence he could find for Batman’s recent instability and bundled it into his school knapsack. Why he hiked the eight miles from the bus depot to Titan’s Tower, and why he stood outside it for hours loudly cursing Nightwing’s name until the man finally deigned to come out and speak with him face-to-face.

Jason dumped all of his evidence at the feet of the man his peers called a demon and glared him down with a ferocity that would command all the forces of hell.

“You see this shit?” he snarled. “Quit fucking hiding and come fix it. _Now_.”

* * *

But of course, Damian couldn’t fix it. If he could’ve done anything on his own, there probably wouldn’t have been a second Robin in the first place.

That’s why, after dragging him back to Gotham and seeing the very human guilt and grief he bore, Jason stole the Robin suit out of the Cave. He dragged Batman out of danger and demanded he find someone to watch his back, for the sake of the whole city. He didn’t expect to be treated as a volunteer, but he was. The training was hard and long and yet too short.

Before he knew it, _Jason_ was Robin. Not a demon or an angel. Just a boy.

A boy with a family. A family not of angels and demons, but of people, like he’d always suspected. He gets to know Cass, now wheelchair-bound and building her network as the all-seeing Oracle; Damian, in his awkward attempts to make up for failing the brother he’d so harshly rejected; and Alfred, the man so vital to their operations and yet destined to never feature in their whispered legends. And of course, there’s Bruce, the Batman himself and, in his own gruff, distant, infuriating way, the best father Jason could ask for.

Looming over it all is the glass case in the center of the Cave, the one preserving the bright colors of green, red and gold. Whenever he’s alone and doubting his next move, Jason stands before that memorial and asks himself, _What would Robin do? What would Tim do? How would he fix this?_

He asks himself the same question years later, when he comes face-to-face with the broken angel a demon dragged out of hell.

But he has no answer.


End file.
